Trump Protest NYC

Poised on the cusp

Moments before the parade begins 

Is it a parade or a funeral procession?

I have no experience in this.

My brain conjures childhood memories of throwing gum from a car

Jumps to the image of blood across a wife’s pink dress in a long black car :

A president gone by. 

How did we get here? 

We live in a passive culture :

Pleasure equates with comfort 

Cheetos and couches full of crumbs 

Netflix and chill

Pacifying ourselves with substances

Consumption overriding production :

The more you put in the less can come out !

To pacify: to make silent, to make peaceful. To make peace? No, really to fake peace. 

It took a little orange man to spark an uprising,

Sitting in his golden palace :

“The King of American Versailles “

The French Revolution on repeat:

” Do I stay or do I dare?

Will you take your place with me? 

The Time is Now. The Day is Here. “

Lining up our front lines 

to get ready for what?

To be heard.

To be seen.

To refuse to be invisible. 

It has come to this.

It has come to this.

It has come to this.

The sky looks the same as any other day 

But the birds are confused – 

They circle above us, 

Following each other to nowhere. 

I pray we are not in the same circle. 

But I don’t know who to pray to –

I am scared 

I am scared I am scared I am scared

For the people I love 

For the state of the world 

For the earth. 

How will this reverberate through nations? 

We claim to be the first world – 

What first world? 

What healthcare?

What education?

What free speech?

If Karl Marx could see us now…

A sea of multicoloured faces 

A hodge-podge of diversity

A reckless melting pot boiling over

But our consciousnesses are raised and unified above the throng

A cloud of collective thought hovers above us

Of united purpose 

Of intention 

He has not thought-policed us yet.

Let us revolt while it is still in our vocabulary.

And so

We walk. 

And so we chant. 

And so we freeze our pussies off on 2nd avenue. 

We abandon our futons and our la-z-boys and our chaise lounges for the cold hard concrete

We refuse to be silent.

Not for ourselves, but for each other.

We push the pendulum back in the other direction to start all over again.


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